


str8 pimpin

by overthetiber



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-21
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overthetiber/pseuds/overthetiber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Vriska gets all the ladies.  All of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Feferi

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of ficlets set at various points in space-time, starring Vriska Serket and (hopefully) all the Homestuck lady characters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1: Feferi!!!! Set before Hivebent.

“It’s so sweet of you to help me out!” your partner trills, as you reel in yet another fish. Your makeshift craft is bulging with carcasses, almost sinking under their weight.

You toss your hair back and cackle. “It’s fun.” You do not share the observation that her lusus is a lot easier to feed than yours. Feferi doesn’t know about that stuff, and you’d like to keep it that way.

She beams up at you and disappears again, a shiny-dark flicker beneath the waves. You check your eight fishing lines. It appears that every one of them, including the one you just reeled in, has a bite. Double reacharound mind control is pretty handy, you must say.

Together, you and Feferi will catch all the fish. All of them! And great Gl’bgolyb’s hunger will be temporarily mitigated, or something. Maybe. You hope. It’s not a sure thing. With your luck, you’ll end up setting off the Vast Glub. But that doesn’t bear dwelling on.

Soon Feferi emerges, bearing a particularly large and vicious-looking vampyroteuthis infernalis—a suitable offering. Blood and viscera fleck her face and limbs, the poetic little daggers of her teeth. You consider that you look much the same.

She hangs on to the side of your boat, resting her chin on her hands. Her eyes catch yours, and you know your pupil is dilating. It’s not your fault that she’s so pretty.

Those goggles should make her look dorky. How come those goggles don’t make her look dorky? She does a lot of things that should disgust or annoy you, but somehow they just make you like her more.

You contemplate this paradox.

“Vriska?”

“Yeeeeeeees?”

“It doesn’t seem like there’s any more room!”

“Yeah, we should probably pack it up. Wait.” You think. “How are we going to pack it up? My vessel doesn’t work underwater. All our hard work will just float away!”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s why I’m going to captchalogue it, stupid!” And she does. This leaves you in a rather awkward position, floundering (rim shot) belly-up in the water around her. You try not to splash too much, but you’re pretty scared you might drown.

“All right, now take a deep breath! And hold on to my back!” You have seconds to comply before she whisks you underwater.

As expected, Feferi is a great swimmer. Her body is thick and soft, but underneath that protective layer of blubber, you can feel hard-won muscles working. Occasionally she breaks the surface to let you get some air, but then you plunge below again.

For a moment, you pretend that you are Marquise Spinneret Mindfang. The real one. Feferi is a lost heir who grew up in isolation. An ill-timed midnight swim led to her being captured by slavers. You recognized her nobility immediately, even in the dimly lit auction house! In return for freeing her, she gave you her allegiance forever.

But then you forget about pretending, because what’s happening here is way better than roleplaying or FLARPing. You are speeding through the ocean on the back of a girl who seems to like you as much as you like her. The night’s still young; who knows what adventures await?!

You can’t wait to find out.


	2. Terezi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: Terezi!

You are stumbling through the sand like a fool, out of your mind on Faygo and adrenaline, and Terezi Pyrope is beside you. She’s drunk too, or at least you think so. Everyone is drunk tonight. It’s a party.

You’re wearing a fucking party hat, and it’s got a little horn attached to the side. You honk the horn. Terezi bats at your hand, snarling halfheartedly— _Stop it, Vriska!_

So you honk louder. And you laugh. The sand under your feet feels soft. You scrunch your toes in it. Terezi jabs you in the side with her cane, and you lightly punch her back.

What is this party for? You can’t remember! It’s at Gamzee’s hive, of course; ever since you got back, he’s been soporized 24/7. More than usual, even. You think he might still be a little freaked out about that time he killed people. Whatever, SGRUB is over! Right? You think so. You’re almost sure.

The stars look funny. The whole sky looks funny, like there’s something wrong with its edges—like somebody made it by crushing the kind of marker that bleeds onto a piece of really shitty construction paper, and holding the marker there till nearly the whole paper was stained. You consider that this would take a long time. Anyone who chose to do it would have to be stoned.

Terezi engages you in a poke fight, which devolves into tickling when you remember how sensitive her sides are. She is squirming and howling and begging for mercy, and you pretty much feel like Her Imperious Condescension. Then she pulls your hair, making you lose the hat, and oh, bitch. It is on. It is _on_.

You cause a scene. It is her fault.

Karkat says you and Terezi should go to a room and figure out your issues. Clearly he is hoping for lady makeouts. You tell him this, and he about bites your face off with frustration. Down, Karkitty! Everyone will get their makeouts in time.

Terezi seems to agree with him, because then she’s dragging you inside the hive. You make a quip about keeping it in the family, and she digs her claws _hard_ into your forearm. The blackrom is pouring off her, smoke and oil and mixed metaphors; and maybe you are drunk, but you swear you can almost smell licorice wafting from her dark, dark hair.

Finally, you reach an empty room. She practically throws you inside, bonking you on the head with her cane for good measure. You stumble, but disguise it as a swagger. She doesn’t notice anyway, as she’s too busy locking the door. _What are you locking the door for, Terezi?! Are you going to do something aaaaaaaawful to me?!?!?!?!_

She is so riled up! It thrills you. How can you make her more riled up? Ooh, right! _Hey Terezi, remember that time I tricked you into blinding yourself? Hahahahahahahaha that was so funny! You should have seeeeeeeen yourself OH WAIT--_

Her lips on yours are like a battering ram against a walled fortress's gates; and her teeth are clack-clack-clacking against yours and digging and _tearing_ into your flesh, oh her teeth are the Alternian Royal Navy and you are a ragtag pirate fleet--and her tongue, her tongue, her _tongue_ is an inky STRONG-soft Faygo-sweet tentacle, licking invasively over every crevice of your mouth. And that's enough metaphors for now, because she pulls back and starts ranting about how she should just chew your delicious blueberry tongue off, just bite it in half. Equius can't make you a robot tongue, now can he? He can't, right? That isn't a thing that can happen, is it?

You pull her close and inform her that she is stupid. She informs you that you are stupider. Around you, the walls seem to shift, seem to shimmer. You resist the urge to bury your face in her neck. Clearly you have drunk too much. Clearly.

Terezi says that she used to really like you. That she missed you, even after what you did. That she's sorry for what happened. _But I had to do it._

You're a little confused, honestly. What is she talking about?

She just keeps talking, going on about justice (oh god shut up Terezi), and you are considering several methods (varying in pleasantness) of shutting her up, when she _looks_ at you and

suddenly she's covered in your blood and

 _remember that time i killed you_

You are alone.


	3. Kanaya, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I guess this is a two-parter. Highschoolstuck! (shut upppp)

You are doing this! You are making it happen. With the help of your very best friend, John Egbert, you will ask Kanaya Maryam to prom. John is learned in the lore of romance, even more learned than your friend Karkat Vantas (and a lot easier to talk to besides). You are sure that he will think of the coolest, swooniest, most perfect promposal plan ever!

Eventually.

“How about this one? You could write a message on the back of a puzzle, break the puzzle into pieces, and hide the pieces in balloons!”

“Boring.”

“Vriska, come on! You’ve vetoed my last…” He counts on his fingers, silently. He runs out of fingers. “I mean, you don’t like any of my plans!”

“Well, that’s cause they’re DUMB.”

“Hey, at least I'm trying.” He sounds hurt.

“Sorry. I just…I just really want this to be good.” So maybe your voice quavered at the end on purpose. So what. Just because he's your best friend, doesn't mean you can't manipulate him once in a while.

That perks him up. “Don’t worry, Vriska! I’m sure we’ll figure something out. How long have you known Kanaya, again?”

You’ve known Kanaya since preschool. It sounds cliché, but she’s always been there for you: listening to your complaints, counseling you through problems, cheering you up when the situation called for it. At one time, there wasn’t a funk she couldn’t pull you out of, or a bad decision she couldn’t prevent you from making. Kind of like how you and John are now, except you were never sure what she got out of the deal. Still, you needed her too much to care.

You drifted apart sometime around ninth grade, when parties and drugs and extreme sports started to interest you more than the nerdy crowd that Kanaya hung around with (though you of course stayed in contact with your gaming buddies). However, she never stopped being your friend. In fact, the first time you drank yourself sick, she drove out to get you and took you home. You hold several blurry memories that confirm her skill at breaking and entering, though those memories cut immediately to you vomiting in the toilet while she pulled your hair back into a ponytail and provided you with cool damp towels.

You don’t know why she did all those things for you. You used to think maybe she was bored, or that she just liked helping people. But it turned out that she liked you. In a gay way. A big, fat, lesbotronic, dykeadelic gay way.

It freaked you out a little. Then you started noticing things. Like the way her hair sat at the nape of her neck. The fact that her homemade clothes were actually really nice-looking. Her darting glances and sudden intensities, the subtlety of her changing expressions, and the warmth and amusement with which she regarded her friends. And when you dissected sheep brains in AP Biology, she wielded the scalpel like a pro. Everyone else was gingerly poking their brains, gagging at the formaldehyde smell, but she just went for it and got shit done.

 _Badass._

Then there’s the part where she’s totally hot. What? You may lack depth perception, but your right eye can see just fine. Heh. Fine.

So you like Kanaya. You hope you aren’t too late to catch the Romance Train to Maryam Station. If she rejects you, you can absorb the loss; you have a lot of irons in the fire, after all. But you really, really hope she doesn’t reject you.

Speaking of other irons in the fire…

“I don’t know if this is still a sensitive subject, but I’m wondering—what about Tavros?”

Misstep! Oof. John must realize that he has just ripped the scab off the enormous, bloody, confusing mess that is your feelings for Tavros Nitram, because he places a comforting hand on your shoulder. You wallow, briefly and gunkily, in the wound, but force yourself to emerge. (That metaphor made you want to wash your hands. You’ll do it later.)

“What about him?” You shrug John off. “That iron’s still on the fire, but it’s kind of in the back of the fire. You know?”

He laughs, more out of affection than mirth. “Okay, Vriska.”

Because John is the best, he knows it’s time to abandon this tangent. You discuss several impractical options—for example, using a chainsaw to carve “WILL YOU GO TO PROM WITH ME?” into the outside wall of the gym—but ultimately settle on a seemingly adequate one.

Maybe you’re nervous. Whatever. Time to MAKE THIS HAPPEN!!!!!!!!

-

“What?”

Kanaya looks at you as if you’ve sprouted wings. The smug blonde at her side raises an eyebrow. (Who is that girl? You know her! You must know her.) Eridan grimaces, but then Eridan always grimaces. He is a grumpy goose, that one.

You repeat yourself, enunciating each syllable with as much sincerity as you can muster. You are laying your heart on the table, here, dammit! You are plunging the knife into your arm and staining your sleeve with feelings, feelings, feeeeeeeelings!

“Oh,” she says. “I’m sorry, but I’m already going to prom with Rose.”

The blonde looks at you like, _You better believe that I am Rose. And that I am going to prom with Kanaya._

You try not to die of embarrassment. It is a near thing. …Especially when you’re wearing this ridiculous helmet, and perched on this stupid one-wheeled device. Whose idea was this, anyway?! Damn your weakness for bright red gear.

-

At home, you recover with an ice-cold Tab and the latest edition of Strider and Pyrope’s gaming zine. Terezi’s commentary is amusing, as always, but you don’t get some of these cartoons. Why are your friends so weird?

Predictably, Karkat starts pestering you. You do enjoy his elaborate insults, but sometimes he takes way too long to get to the point. In this specific case, the point seems to be, “WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?”

You consider that this is a good question.

What you take away from the conversation, besides five completely novel and creative uses of the word “ass,” is that Kanaya is confused. Very confused. Also, she and Rose are going to prom As Friends. Close friends, who sleep over at each other’s houses every weekend and hold two-person fancy-dress tea parties and write fanfiction together. But still, Just Friends. You can work with that.

You haven’t lost yet. And you never give up without a fight.


	4. Kanaya, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2.
> 
> Good lord I'm birthing these like...like...things that get birthed. :o

Your next priority, obviously, is choosing the most badass prom outfit ever. While John’s incredible dorkitude rules him out for this mission, his equally dorky but surprisingly fashionable sister is fair game.

Or so you thought.

“What about this one?” Jade giggles, holding up the honest-to-god most hideous shirt-suit-dress-thing you have ever seen. Kanaya would not be caught _dead_ in that. You dwell, for a moment, on the likelihood of her objecting to the garment so strongly that she tears it off you, but that is too silly a line of thought and you will not follow it further.

“I was thinking of something more…not that,” you say. “Where do you get your clothes?”

“Oh, I don’t buy clothes! My Nanna gave me a bunch of her old dresses and skirts and things when I turned 13. And I commissioned a couple other things from Kanaya.” Her eyes light up. “Hey, you could ask Kanaya to sew your dress!”

Yeah, like you’ve never asked Kanaya to sew you anything. And like that never ended in disaster.

“I don’t mix business with pleasure,” which is utterly untrue, especially as it concerns your short career as a pot dealer, but Jade just grins her cute bucktoothed grin and drags you across the store to coo over another hideous sartorial failure.

The trip is not wholly a loss, though, as your eye snags on a sharp-looking tuxedo jacket and you think, _Strider._

-

“Serket, I know you’re a loose cannon and all, but you better not be making your reputation on my Felt suit.”

“I’ll take suuuuuuuuch good care of it,” you promise. “Allllllll the care. I’ll even get it dry-cleaned after prom.”

“One scratch, one stain, one _fiber_ out of place,” he says. “And I swear, I will rip out your spleen and feed it to Rezi.”

“Ewww,” Terezi hisses. “Not the spleen, Dave! The heart. We’ve been over this, Dave! Spleen and kidneys bad, heart and liver good.” And she cackles. Because she is a cackler.

-

Prom is fast approaching! You hope it will be fun. You’re going in a group with all your friends, as dateless people traditionally do. Ugh, you are the only one without a date. Even John has a date! But his date is Karkat, so that tempers your jealousy somewhat. You expect Jade to roll her eyes at the two of them approximately 88,888,888 times that night. Or maybe fewer times than that, but you’ve got standards! Standards must be upheld.

John agrees that your suit is the coolest ever. You are going to sweep that lady off her feet, he says. He helps you make a matching spider-themed eyepatch—well, cheerleads you through it, more like—and even lets you borrow some shoes. For such a casually dressed young fellow, John has a lot of formal shoes.

Things with you and Kanaya are weird. At school, you feel her eyes on you frequently, but she won’t meet your gaze. You’ve pestered her a few times since, but conversations never seem to flow. What’s up with her? You’re worried. Have you destroyed your friendship? Burnt the bridges, dismantled the ships, blockaded the ports, caved in the secret underground tunnels, annihilated the last traces of—Okay, you are going over the top. But still!

You care about her. You realize that scares you.

-

YEAH!!!!!!!! PROM NIGHT!!!!!!!! Prom afternoon, technically. You make your hair do the cool wavy thing and set up mirrors so you can view your slick suit from every angle. You are so sharp. Look out soft things, Vriska’s gonna slice you!

Your mother steals a moment from her obscenely busy schedule to mock your clothing choices. Lovingly. (You think.)

Strider and Pyrope pick you up at six. John and Jade are already in the car, both bouncing with glee. You feel so giddy, you emulate them and bounce joyously in your seat. Strider gives the three of you a Look over his shades, before informing you that the next stop is Kanaya’s house. They will acquire four more passengers: Kanaya, Karkat, some tool that Jade is dating, and Dave’s sister. You did not know Dave had a sister. Also, will Rose arrive separately? (Privately, you hope so.)

This is when you learn that Rose is Dave’s sister. Huh. Makes sense, in a funny way.

Dinner is so awkward, you forget why you were looking forward to it. Kanaya’s dress is predictably gorgeous, all floaty layers and artful lacing, and Rose looks teeth-grindingly fantastic in her annoying complementary ensemble. She keeps whispering things to Kanaya, who laughs softly and whispers other things in response. Oh look at that, when did your hands ball into fists? It's a good thing you seldom clip your nails, because the pain shocks you back to normal. You are Vriska Serket, and nothing can keep you down! Heh heh. Heheheheheh. Heh.

Maybe, if you repeat it enough times, it will come true.

On the way out to the car, John and Jade corner you. "Don't sulk, Vriska!" Their identical, well-intentioned grins touch your heart as much as they irritate your ego, and you shake them off with a reassuring eyeroll. Who cares about Rose and Kanaya, you have all the swag ever. With this much swag, you'll certainly find an oblivious pretty someone to antagonize tonight.

Okay, this denial thing is wearing reeeeaaaally thin.

-

You usually tear up the dance floor at these shindigs, but tonight you just aren't feeling it. Could it have something to do with a certain lady's slowdance partner, whose traitorous sarcasm-tainted fingers are currently charting the topography of her hip region? Of course it could.

You're jealous. We get it.

You go sulk on the patio. Whoops, Tavros is there! You go sulk by the punch bowl instead. Haha, they actually have a punch bowl. You absorb yourself in people-watching. It is not hard. They are bringing the drama in full force tonight. You observe John leading Karkat in an awkward, n00bish tango, and Jade trying to convince her tall, sweaty date to relax. You expect she will succeed, not because of any desire to relax on his part, but because she is invincible. You decide to test this theory by joining her.

Dancing with Jade and whatshisname, you forget about time. You forget about girls and drama and silly wonderful paraplegic boys who will probably never love you. In spite of all these things that make you sad, you are having fun. This is the magic of friendship!

After a while, you spot a white-blond head that is not Dave's. But no elegant dark curls accompany it. Where is she? You scan the room, craning your neck like a periscope. Was that a mixed metaphor? You cannot find Kanaya.

And then you see her. Her silhouette, rather, concealed by a curtain on the side of the room. Another silhouette crouches over it. Hmm, that's menacing. Who is this douchebag, and why is he messing with your girl? Looks like she's in trouble. No, wait. _Really_ looks like she's in trouble. Oh my god! Kanayaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!

You break away from Jade and Jadedate immediately, sprinting across the floor and mowing down several bystanders (bydancers?). You reach the curtain in record time. This rapscallion better unhand your Kanaya _this instant_ , or there will be hell to pay.

"GET YER HANDS OFF THE LADY!" You wrench aside the curtain to reveal--Eridan? Locked in a completely platonic embrace with your best gay lady pal? Oh--that was just a--whose bizarrely shaped box of tissues is that?

“Do you mind? We’re talkin here.”

"Seems like you wanted to do a lot more than talk!" Yeah, you dig that hole. You dig it nice and deep. Keep digging! Don't forget to twirl your shovel around, you might even hit yourself in the forehead!

“God Vris, why do you have to be such a _huge bitch_!” His voice softens. "I'll...I'll tell you how it goes, Kan." Then he scowls at you, and smile-grimaces wanly at her, and is off in a flurry of purple pinstriped cape and emotional theatrics. Oh, Eridan.

"I must admit that was rather dashing."

"Huh?" you ask, demonstrating your immense powers of perception.

"You coming to my...rescue like that. Though I'm rather confused about the whole thing."

"So am I," you admit. Your heart leaps in your throat when she smiles at you. You crack your neck and clumsily neaten up the Felt suit.

You request clarification regarding the Eridan situation, and Kanaya readily provides it. She is so skilled at condensing information. What likely took numerous tearful hours to coax out of him is relayed to you in just a couple minutes.

It turns out Kanaya took Rose to prom because Eridan was too chicken to ask her--" _What_ ," you manage, and she scrunches her lips like, _I know_ \--and the two of them are acting out a familiar complicated dialogue of hate-love, irritation-fondness, frustration-release. It is so pedestrian. You speed by it on your figurative one-wheeled device, honking vigorously to express your disdain.

"But the possibility of making you jealous was what convinced me to cooperate with the scheme."

"Soooooooo, you still..."

She bats her eyelashes, literally bats her eyelashes, and ohh you are pretty sure you like that half-lidded glance. It smolders. It would smolder even if she hadn't applied such flattering, smoldering eye makeup. You mentally note that you want to learn makeup. You still can't put on eyeliner correctly without poking yourself in the sclera.

Things are getting comfortable behind this curtain. Really comfortable. Kanaya is so warm, and you have to move closer to her. Oh! You recall an important-seeming question. “Kanaya, am I really a huge bitch?”

Poker-faced, she nods, and for good measure adds, “Yes.”

You attempt not to feel hurt, but then you track it: the subtle, subtle budding of a smile, set to blossom across her face.

She curls an arm around your waist. “But you’re my huge bitch.”

Theeeeeeeere's the answer you were looking for. It is only appropriate, now, to kiss her.


	5. Nepeta, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...oh dear. This is turning into straight-up fluff. Don't worry, there'll be oceans of angst after I finish this bit!

The veins on Equius’s forehead are straining so hard you’re surprised they haven’t popped. “Absolutely not,” he (man)grits out, jaw clenched tight enough to break.

“Equi-hiss—”

“NEPETA, I FORBID THIS.”

“Stop it! You’re empurrassing me in furront of my matesprit!”

“I forbid this! End of discussion! And _she_ —” He doesn’t even glance at you, but the scorching intensity of his disapproval could reduce Terezi’s stupid treehive to charcoal and bones. (You remain gleefully unaffected.) “She is not your matesprit. Honestly, Nepeta! Do you know what she does to her partners?”

“You impawssible jerk! You think I’m still a wriggler? I know exactly who she is.”

 _Oh doooooooo you, little Nepeta?_ She calls you Vwiskers. She said your lusus was _cute_. Sometimes you reeeeeeeeally think she’s out of her mind, but other times… The way she looks at you. You recall her trophy collection, ranging from whole skeletons to gently gnawed corpses. The little bitch is vicious. Little bitch and huge bitch, perfect match, right?

(Oh god, you’d be _humiliated_ if anyone found out how much you hope so.)

Cue Nepeta and Equius doing the super-secret moirail mind-meld eye contact thing. Yeah, that is so on cue, you could…think up some convoluted and likely inaccurate pool analogies. If you knew anything about pool, that is.

Okay, how long are they going to do this?

Finally, transmission ended. “If you’re sure,” he mumbles, and without warning he rounds on you. “But explain it to me.”

“Explain what?”

“Nepeta has made her feelings clear, but yours are still suspect. Prove yourself worthy of her affection.” He folds his arms across his chest, muscles bulging in a way that might intimidate a lesser troll.

“Like…how?” Does he expect you to come up with a detailed and stirringly eloquent confession of pity on the spot? Sure, that kind of thing would make her happy, but you have limits!

“I knew you were depraved, but this is appalling. Have you no knowledge of your ancestors’ traditions?” He rears his head back, appears to suppress an irritated bray. “Prove your worth in the traditional methods of courtship, blueblood!”

“Which are…?”

“Trials. Quests. A tribute, perhaps?”

Nepeta claps. “A tribute!” Okay, that’s cute.

“You want me to slay you a musclebeast?” you tease. “You want me to string you a necklace of trunkbeast tusks?”

“Noooo,” she giggles, “nyaaaaaaaaoooo. But if you made me a burrrracelet or something, that’d be pawesome! I could wear it all the time and think of you.” She shines that simpering little kittysmile on you, and you are slain. Why. Why are you flushed for this enormous dork. She is like a squad of dorks. She is like a _squadron_ of dorks. She makes fun of your roleplaying, she brushes the tangles out of your hair _with her goddamn claws_. You are doomed.

Equius clears his throat. “As Miss Leijon’s moirail, I will decide the challenges you are to face.” Her expression falls, and he continues, “After conferring with her, of course.”

“Really, Equius?!”

“Absolutely,” he confirms, and she tacklepounces the two of you with joyous abandon.

From your position in the pile of trolls and sweat, you acknowledge a suspicion that this is the start of a heartwarming dialogue-only montage. You suspect that such montages will be common in the future, if Equius accepts you as her matesprit. They _are_ the heartwarming dialogue-only montage type.

Let’s get this show on the road!!!!!!!!


	6. Jade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PWP, just Jade and Vriska making out and arguing for ~500 words. What.

Buckteeth gnaw ineffectually at your neck. Small, thin fingers grab fistfuls of your hair. You luxuriate in the curves pressed against you, the strength concealed by intoxicatingly rounded fat deposits. But you are Vriska Serket, and you bottom to no one. It’s time to unleash your signature move on this upstart ingenue.

You catch her wrists in an iron grip, hook a leg around her waist, and roll. Just as you intended, you end up straddling her hips, holding her hands on the ground behind her head.

“Keep trying to be on top, Jade! It’s really cuuuuuuuute!”

She squirms and hisses, to no avail. You laugh, but as you bend to claim your reward, her hips jerk sharply upward, jolting you off balance. She takes advantage of your surprise to flip you over. You’re on your back again! This is insufferable.

“Don’t,” she warns, securing a warning thigh over your hip. Rolling your eyes, you (figuratively) captchalogue the current escape efforts. It’s fine. You can try later, after she forgets.

“Since you’re apparently in charge, why don’t you tell me what to do?” You wriggle suggestively. She snorts.

“It’s more fun to make you guess,” she says brightly, and buries her nose in your hair. She takes a deep sniff. “Mmmm.”

“You’re grooooooooss, Jade.”

“And you smell gooooooood! Different.” She sniffs your hair again.

“It’s called shampoo, dummy.”

“Then I guess you must not wash your hair that often,” and she grins like she just executed a figure eight in ice skates, performed a triple pirouette in the air, and subsequently leapt into your waiting arms. (That is an actual thing you have done before. Her expression looked precisely like this.)

Anyway. She kisses you, sighing happily into your mouth. Jade is really into kissing. Then she starts grinding on you, sweet and slow, nudging her leg between yours so you can get in on the action. Jade is really into reciprocity, too.

She reaches up to stroke your horns, pressing her thumbs into the grooves, scratching gently around the base. In retaliation, you move your hands to cup her ass, and squeeze. She responds as expected: a gasp, a shiver, more desperate grinding.

You suddenly want nothing more in the world than to feel her bare skin. You start bunching her unnecessarily voluminous skirt up around her legs, groping for the hem. But you cannot do it! You cannot find the way in.

“Um, Vriska?” Oh no, she’s stopped moving.

“Earth fashion is stupid!” (Good bravado, best save.)

“You’re stupid!” she yells, and bursts into giggles. “You know, on Earth, you usually ask a lady’s permission before you take her clothes off.”

You put on your serious face and peer deep into her glasses. “Jade, are you questioning my cultural sensitivity?”

This makes her giggle harder. “Duh, fuckass!”

“Well. Can I have permission to rip your silly outfit to shreds and raaaaaaaavage you?”

“Oh, Vriska. I thought you’d never ask!”

You do end up tearing her skirt, though she pronounces the loss negligible. Besides, she's too busy gloating over your struggles with this human contraption called a bra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for (a) Aradia dreambubble visits that end in tears; (b) high-powered career women of a historically male-dominated field AU that pits assistant!Rose against new!boss!Vriska (with sympathetic coworker Kanaya); (c) Rose dreambubble visits that end in angsty, sarcastic discussions of hubris/fate/determinism; and maybe more Nepeta fluff if I can manage it. Blah blah huge geek.


End file.
